


Daylight

by daenerisse



Category: Avengers (Comics), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky has a son, Canon Divergence - Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Not Canon Compliant, Romance, Rusty Bucky, Sam Wilson is a Gift, dad!bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-02-29 12:33:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18778381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daenerisse/pseuds/daenerisse
Summary: Years after his recovery, Bucky was assigned as the new Head of Security of the Wakanda International Outreach Center in Oakland. There he meets the son he never knew he had and the woman he never knew he loved.





	1. Chapter 1

A small Asian woman left the reception desk after acquiring a visitor’s pass, eyes scanning the lobby of the Wakanda International Outreach Center in search of her godchild. A small number of people littered the place –most of them of African descent. She caught sight of the olive-skinned boy near the elevator. Little Jamie had caught the attention of Nakia and her companions whilst she was occupied at the reception. She recognized the other two as King T'Challa and Princess Shuri –no one can miss the huge framed photograph of them by the entrance, the other two women who looked incredibly badass with their shaven and tattooed head, she guessed, were their guards. A man who could only be Captain America stood by their side. And then there was another man. She could not see his face for he was crouched in front of Little Jamie. He was ruffling her godchild’s hair when she reached them.

“James?” She called softly.

Everyone turned to her, including the four year old; a big smile plastered on his face, his blue eyes gleaming with happiness. It was the kind of happiness Lucy had never seen on his godchild’s face before. “He is Dada!” He chirped and as if to prove his point, hugged the man in front of him.

A quiet gasp escaped her lips, her whole body tensed at the sight. To say she was shocked was an understatement. It could not be. He could not be that bastard who ran away and left her best friend five years ago. But Lucy be damned if she ever forget that asshole’s face, even if he now sported a beard. Everyone seemed amused at the situation but not her. It took all of her willpower to calm herself, she lets out a deep breath and forced out an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry about that.” She offered then took the boy’s hand, gently tugging him towards her. The bastard had the audacity to smile at her as he stood up. _Acting as if he does not know me, huh?_

“It’s fine, ma'am.” He said.

“James, let’s go, mama is waiting for you.” Lucy excused herself and the kid. The elevator door opened and before hopping in, Jamie turned to the man one last time and waved.

“Bye, dada!”

Lucy stood inside the elevator, debating with herself on whether she should inform her best friend, Jamaica, of what transpired at the lobby. Everything is going so well in her life now. She is happy and contented with her new life in Oakland after leaving New York. Lucy knows it would shake Jamaica’s world if she told her of this encounter, and she would not want that to happen. Granted, Jamie had been longing for a father figure ever since he knew what a father is, and Lucy sees that as Jamie’s mother, it breaks Jamaica’s heart that he had none.

Still, that bastard, that James Buchanan Barnes has no right to be a father to Little Jamie. _Even if they share first and last names._ He left. And he does not care one bit, it seems. The asshole looked awfully happy with his life. _Fuck him_. Lucy thought. He will never get near Jamie –and Jamaica for that matter– again.

The _ding_ sound of the elevator pulled her from her thoughts. With Jamie’s hand in hers, they stepped out to the floor together and approached the door to Jamaica’s office. Lucy decided, as she turned the knob, Jamaica does not need to know.

“Mama!”

The chirping sound put a warm smile on Jamaica’s face as she looked up from her desk. Her son ran towards her, arms stretched out. She met him halfway, lowering herself down as she welcomed the boy into a hug. “I missed you, my Jamie.” She cooed then gave him a peck on the cheek. “How was school today?”

“We write A-B-C and Teacher Ron give me a star. Look!” The boy raised his left arm to show her the stamp on the back of his hand. It read ‘ _Very good.’_

“Good job, my little doll.” She pinched her son’s cheeks lightly before giving him another kiss on the forehead. Jamaica turned to Lucy who stood by the door. “Thanks for picking him up.” She said. Her best friend looked a little tense. But before she could ask if something was bothering her, she spoke.

“Anything for Jamie.” Lucy replied. “Anyway, I’m meeting up with Anna in a while, I’ll get going now.” She walked towards the two of them and gave them both a hug. “Bye, Jamie, be a good boy.” She reminded then left.

Despite the abruptness of it all, she turned to her son again, dismissing her worry. Jamie was unpacking his things on the carpeted floor of her office. He took out his activity book from school then handed it to her mother. The smile on Jamaica’s face never faded as she took the object from him. “Let’s see your homework for today.” She picked him up then sat him on her lap, and together, mother and son scanned the pages, looking for his assigned work.

Jamaica would drop him off at the Child Study Center before going to work. By noon, Lucy would pick him up and bring him to her. After dropping him off in her office, she would help her son with his homeworks, sometimes he would take a nap on the couch, but most of the time she let’s him play at the Center’s playground, together with the kids of other workers. Nakia, her boss who oversees the Outreach Center, was very considerate to those like her: a single parent.

When Jamaica moved to Oakland, five months pregnant with James, she swore to forget her past and start anew. She thought she would live and die in the jungles of New York. Born and raised in Harlem, Jaimaca is the only offspring of an interracial couple who lived in an old Brownstone. Her father was of African descent. He taught her practically everything she needed to know in life. He was a quiet man with deep thoughts. He loved jazz and she got that from him. It was an olive-skinned immigrant from the Pacific Islands who caught her father’s heart. Her mother died when she was born because of complication. He was the only family she had.

Lucy Lim entered her life when she was in high school. This awkward, skinny, Asian girl had offered Jamaica her dumplings when she tripped and fell over nothing in the cafeteria, her lunch flying everywhere. She remembered having sat there cursing gravity when the smell of steamed meat invaded her nostrils. It was the start of a beautiful friendship. If it were not for her, Jamaica would have withered away the same day her father exhaled out his last breath just months after her graduating from college. It was Lucy who had been there for her when she hit rock-bottom. She offered support and a shoulder to cry on.

Jamaica can never thank her best friend enough. Maybe, it was the fact that both were Asians, which was why they clicked so well. Lucy was estranged from her family because she decided she wanted a girlfriend and not a boyfriend, a wife and not a husband. When Lucy decided to move to Oakland, she wanted for Jamaica to come with her. Jamaica was reluctant to leave Harlem at first but her best friend’s incessant persuasion finally got to her. She had promised her she would help her every step of the way, and she did.

She still does. Even after Jamaica had gotten back on her feet. She has a steady job now at the Wakanda International Outreach Center. It was Anna -Lucy’s girlfriend- who recommended she apply for the job of Project Coordinator. The Center had just opened then and was in dire need of people. Wakanda, it turns out, is the most technologically advanced nation on Earth. And it is in Africa. It came as a shock to her. Her whole life, she believed the land of her ancestors was nothing but a third-world continent. Jamaica had never been so wrong in her life.

Knocks on her door pulled her back from her thoughts. She gingerly lifted James off of her and sat him down on the carpet beside her table. “Finish your homework, little doll.” She instructed just before the door opened, revealing Nakia and a man she has only seen in monitor screens and holograms during meetings.

“Miss Coleman, it is a pleasure to finally meet you personally.” The King offered his hand with a smile.

“The pleasure is mine, Your Highness.” Jamaica accepted the offered hand and they shared a brief handshake. She then called James over who was watching curiously. The boy approached them and stopped by his mother’s side.

He beamed a smile at the King. “I’m James.” He stretched his hand out, like he had seen the King do earlier.

“Nice to see you again, little boy. I am T'Challa.” The King replied and shook the boy’s hand good-naturedly. Jamaica gently nudged him back to his spot.

“Again?” She asked, one brow rose.

“I’ve had an encounter with the boy earlier. It was interesting, to say the least.” He stated, rather amusedly, in his heavily accented speech. She only nodded and smiled in response. Nakia must have sensed her uneasiness with the way her body tensed as she chanced a look at her son.

“Do not worry, sister, it was all good.” She assured before stating that they need to go. T'Challa just wanted to meet her. Jamaica remembered when Nakia first introduced her to the King over a video call. She had said,

“Our most efficient partner in the Center.”

She felt elated at having praised like that. She was just doing her job, Jamaica had reasoned out. T'Challa thanked her for her efforts nonetheless. Six months later, Nakia approached her at her station, told her to pack her things up and follow her. Jamaica feared the worst as she collected her things and placed them in a box. She did not have much then, just a few files and folders, a couple of pens, and a framed picture of her three-month old son. She followed her boss to the elevator and asked if they were firing her, Jamaica had just gotten back from Maternity Leave the last week. Nakia chuckled before turning to her.

“You will see.” She only said as they both reached the 7th floor and Nakia led her in a room. It was completely bare, aside from what looked to be brand-new desk and swivel chair. “Starting today, this will be your office. You are being promoted to Project Manager.”

The news brought tears to her eyes. She did not know whether to drop the box or wipe her tears or hug Nakia. In the end, Nakia hugged her, while Jamaica was holding the box, then wiped her tears for her. All her hard work paid off. It humbled her to know that the Wakandans trust her this much.

For the past five years, the Outreach Center had been her home and its people her family. They helped Jamaica rebuild her life. They gave her a sense of purpose. She promised she would not let them down. After all, she is not just doing this for herself and the community.

Jamaica is doing this for him. Amidst all the heartbreaks and struggles she faced, the world gave her the most precious gift she could ever receive, her little doll, James ColemanBarnes.


	2. Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Damn, he has blue eyes."

**_January 19, 2014_ **

Jamaica groaned at the sight before her; stacks of unpaid bills littered her dining table while she holds a disconnection notice in her hands. Add to that the staggering amount of interest she has to pay for her already massive student debt.

She pulled out her wallet and with a soft sigh, brought out her measly pay for the month as an administrative staff at a small office downtown. God, she’s short by a few hundred dollars. She dropped everything on the table, closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. A dreary wail escaped her lips. She could feel another wave of headache coming and it made her slump down the seat.

_It’s a hard knock life_.

She considered borrowing money from Lucy but quickly swatted the thought away. She hasn’t paid her past debts she owes her, how would she pay her best friend after this?

She sat up and composed herself by slapping both hands on her cheeks.  _You can do this, Maica. You’re a strong, independent woman_. She pulled out her grocery list and searched for things to cross out, it wasn’t that long anyway. She was considering crossing out coffee and milk when the doorbell rang. She dropped her list and frowned, who could that be at this hour? It was close to midnight and she was not expecting anyone.

She looked through the peephole when she reached the door.

A man stood there, she could not see his face very well, the baseball cap he wore cast a shadow over his countenance but she could see that the man had shoulder-length hair. When he faced forward and looked straight, Jamaica swore he saw her right through the door. Frowning, she opened it, but did not undo the chain bolt.

“Can I help you?” She asked warily. The man’s tall and broadly built body loomed over the gap between the wall and the door. He did not speak but merely held out a piece of paper. It was a flyer she had printed months ago when she decided to rent out the room on the third floor. She thought the fee would help pay the bills but she had forgotten all about it, to be honest. Jamaica let out an apologetic smile. “Sorry, but it’s only up for girls.” She should have indicated that in the flyer, she internally groaned.

“I’ll pay double.”

“What?” She blinked at his counter. His voice was deep but raspy, like he has not spoken in a long time.

The man reached into his pocket, pulled out some bills, counted some then handed her $900. “Three months, doubled.”

She stared at the offered amount. It would cover everything for this month and she would still have a couple left. She looked back at him and held up a finger. “Give me a second.” She said then shut the door.  _Okay_ , she thought,  _he does not look harmless… much. But this is Harlem; everyone’s harmless until they become harmful_. 

_But girl, you got some bills to pay and stomach to feed._

_Yeah, but I also love my life? Don’t I?_

She scowled at herself because if she really loves her life she would not be having a dilemma right now. She would not even consider living with a stranger, let alone a man –no matter how devilishly handsome he looked –in the Brownstone.

_I did not just admit that he is hot._

_Yes, honey, you just did._

Well, who was she kidding? She’s desperate, she needs the money. And if the guy murders Jamaica in her sleep it would be a win-win situation.

_No life, no bills, no debt, no problem._

Jamaica undid the chain bolt, cautiously opened the door and tried to look as calm and collected as possible. He stood there, money still in his hands, waiting for her response.

“You can have the room,” She started. “But you don’t have to double the pay. Just two months advance would be good.” She stepped sideways to let him inside the house. He wore a red henley underneath a brown jacket, and on his left hand he wore a leather glove. A black backpack slung over his shoulder. He was looking around, probably surveying the house. Jamaica tried hard not to ogle at the stubble that painted his jawline nor his broad chest. She cleared her throat to distract herself. “So here’s the living room, that’s the kitchen over there,” she gestured to her far left, “…and it may not look like it but that is the dining table.” She explained. “Feel free to use everything, except my room, of course.” A dry chuckle escaped her lips. It ended as soon as it started.

Jamaica’s pathetic excuse of a joke went unnoticed. _Talk about awkward._ The man does not speak much it seemed. It kind of reminded her of her father. He was also a quiet man and he did not speak much. 

“Where is the room?” The man asked when he turned back to face her.

“Third floor.” Jamaica squeaked, mildly startled before composing herself once again. She led the way to the stairs, cautiously looking over her shoulder at the man trailing behind. “This is the bathroom,” she pointed to the door on her left when they both reached the second floor. “There’s only one so we’d have to share, and the room on the right is mine.” He only nodded in response. An uncomfortable silence stretched as they trekked the remaining steps upstairs. When they finally reached the top floor, she led him inside the only room on it. “So, this’ll be yours.” She said as she opened the door and they both entered. He went further inside while Jamaica stayed by the door. “I have extra beddings you could use. When do you plan to move in, by the way?” 

“Now.” Once again, he handed her the $900 bills. And she took it unthinkingly, stunned at his answer. 

“I’ll, uhm, get the sheets.” She offered uneasily, hands twirling the back hem of her shirt.

“No need.” He retorted as he dropped his bag on the floor. 

“Well, if you need anything I’ll be downstairs.”

“Just don’t disturb me.” He instructed as he walked towards her, an intense look in his eyes. Instinctively, Jamaica stepped back until she’s out the room and the next thing she knew, the door slammed shut on her face –almost.

_Damn, he has blue eyes._

Those were her last thoughts before turning towards the stairs. She counted the money in her hands. Despite all the strangeness that occurred, the man occupying the room upstairs had inadvertently helped her. She then realized, she has not asked his name. Jamaica had half a mind to trudge back up and knock on his door but thought better, he seemed dead serious about not being disturbed. Instead she went back to the dining table and got back to business. The grocery list caught her eye and she smiled. Coffee and milk won’t have to say goodbye. And she could add a bottle of conditioner too.  _Maybe it wasn’t that hard knock of a life._

 

**_\-----------------------------------------_ **

 

**_July 17, 2020_ **

It had been three days since Bucky arrived in Oakland. The last four years he spent in Wakanda had been blissful and quiet. Save for the goats he tended to and the Wakandan children he used to play with. Those were good times; he kind of missed them –goats included. Since his deprogramming, courtesy of the Wakandan Princess, his mind had never felt more his own. He himself had never felt freer. The cybernetic arm he got from Hydra -or what was left of it, since Tony Stark blasted it off of him- was long gone and replaced with prosthesis, designed by none other than Princess Shuri. Her brilliant mind had come up with an almost life-like arm. It looks like real skin and muscles and feels like it when touched.

_“I outdid myself on that one.” Shuri beamed._

_“It’s amazing.” Bucky replied with a smile then cast a glance at Steve who stood by his hide. He flexed the newly attached prosthetic arm then frowned._

_“Something wrong, Buck?” Steve asked. His brows scrunched together._

_Almost immediately, Bucky let out a strained smile. “Nothing.” He said to him then turned to Shuri, his smile wider this time. “It’s fantastic, princess.”_

Bucky never admitted it but no matter how real his new prosthesis looked, having it still felt like having his previous cybernetic arm. He could not get used to it, deep inside, he knew he would never get over the fact that he lost his arm. No prosthetics - cybernetic or not - could ever replace his original flesh and bones arm. And Bucky also knew that no matter how blissful the life in Wakanda is, he would never get used to it.

_It always ends in a fight_.

He remembered telling Steve back in Bucharest. Right now, he is fighting for redemption. He knew he cannot undo the things that he did but he knew as well that he could make the future better. Part of the reason he decided to come back to America is to make amends with Stark. It would not be easy but he has to do it. It did matter that Hydra had control of his mind but Bucky was tired of using that excuse to justify his actions. He is free of them now and would never again let the vile organization use him again. Not even with his reclamation.

Everything that he has, he owes it to Steve. He owes it to his undying loyalty. And to the Royal Family of Wakanda as well. T'Challa had been gracious enough to let him stay and heal in his kingdom. After being deprogrammed, the gravity of what he had done as the Winter Soldier came crashing down on him. It weighed him down physically and mentally. For weeks the blanket of despair suffocated him, he blamed himself. T’Challa had coaxed him into therapy and it helped.

Bucky knew he could never repay the King, no amount of money could equal the friendship and brotherhood he had received from him –and his family. So when T'Challa had voiced out his concern regarding the Outreach Center, Bucky found a way to extend help and be of use. 

And here he is now, three days later.

When he first stepped foot in Oakland, in front of the Outreach Center, he knew his uneventful life had ended. What he did not expect was how eventful his first day would be. He met a kid who was sure Bucky was his 'Dada’. If that did not pique his interest then the fact that the kid’s name is James did. And those deep set of blue eyes that matched his own really did it. Bucky had yet to meet the boy’s mother who also worked at the Center, he would never admit it loudly but he was looking forward to it.

Bucky could not get past the playful jabs Sam threw at him about not having kissed a girl since the war. He knew he was a ladies’ man back then. Hydra may have blended his mind and memories but Shuri’s algorithm made sure he got them back. He just wasn’t sure if he could execute it like he did back then.

_Rusty Bucky_. The Falcon teased.

Bucky had made it his mission to prove him wrong.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Show some love, yeah? =)


	3. Chapter 3

**_January 2014_ **

“I’m with you til’ the end of the line.” 

The words danced in his mind like a broken record player. When the blonde man said those words, something primal snapped within him. Bucky knew him but his befuddled Hydra-induced mind kept breaking off the connections and blurring out what little bit of memories he tried to conjure. The achingly familiar emotions he did not know he had erupted with all the fury of a long-dormant volcano coming to life. The man - Steve - took it all. But Bucky saved him; he pulled him from the river. He did not know why, all he knew was it felt wrong to watch him plummet to his death and do nothing about it.  _I knew him._  But from when? From where? He called him Bucky, why? Who is he? Who am I?

So many questions ran through his mind but no answers came up. There was only one place where he could find it and he wasted no time to get there. 

Bucky adjusted his cap, pulling it as far down as possible, before entering the Smithsonian Institution. The Captain America exhibit was packed with people. He blended well with museumgoers wanting to learn more about Super Soldier. At that moment, Bucky was one of them. 

_Steven Grant Rogers. Brooklyn. Project Rebirth. Pre-serum. World War II._

His eyes darted on the adjacent wall.

**_A Fallen Comrade. James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky._ **

Bucky’s breath got caught up in his throat. He stared dumbfounded at the sight before him. He was best friends with the man he tried to kill. An image flashed in his mind, he was falling and the man… Steve, he looked helpless with his arm stretched out and face contorted in despair, his figure rapidly getting smaller. 

_I fell of a train._  

His heart raced uncomfortably at the thought, he felt suffocated. As if struck by lightning, he jolted from his position and bolted to the nearest exit, carelessly bumping off a few strangers on the way. 

The cold morning breeze in D.C. gradually cleared his head. Despite the unending questions of identity running in his mind, Bucky stood there with a determined look in his face. New York would be the perfect place on his journey to self-rediscovery. It was after all, where he was born.

Three days later, he found himself standing in front of an old Brownstone in the quiet part of Harlem. He had been roaming the Burroughs of New York, stopping for a few hours at small bed and breakfasts that he could find nearest to him. He travelled mindlessly until one night, when he trudged the silent street to god knows where, the soft sound of jazz reached his ears. The nostalgic music took him on a brief trip down memory lane. There were girls, and dancing, and… and Steve.  _His best friend_. Bucky’s eyes darted to his left, to where the sound was coming from. Next thing he knew, he was knocking on the door, flyer in hand. His action only truly dawned on him when he finally stood inside the room he had rented out. It was roughly bare, save for the bed, a bedside table and a closet as tall as him. The flooring is made of wood, and walls are painted with an off-white color.

Unsure of what to do, he let himself fall on the bed before him, not minding the absence of bed covers. Exhaustion finally got to him, and with the mellow tune coming from downstairs; he let himself get lulled to sleep. 

Bucky groggily opened his eyes the next day. He bolted upright, his mind figuring out where he was. He relaxed as soon he recalled the events from last night then glanced outside the window; it must have already been late in the morning. Bucky cleared his thoughts then stood up to go downstairs. He was met with silence and figured out he was alone in the house. When he reached the kitchen he saw a note on the dining table, it was from the woman.

_Hi, new housemate :) I’m at work and wouldn’t be back until late. Make yourself at home. There’s food in the fridge._ _I brought out the bed covers you can use. It’s on the sofa._

_-Maica_

Bucky turned towards the sofa where the said beddings lay. His blue eyes then darted on the far-left corner and landed on a turntable, a shelf of vinyl records stood beside it. Impulsively, Bucky strode towards it and ran his fingers along the glass covering the device. A memory flickered at the back of his mind; he was listening to music with Steve, it was from a Broadway musical they have watched. He closed his eyes and willed himself to remember more. But the memory was gone as soon as it came. 

The week went by in a blur. Bucky had not seen the woman who welcomed him since he moved in, which was his choice. Yet every day, he always gets brief notes from her, mostly about coming home late from work. Bucky would spend his time sitting by her sofa, having worked his way around the turntable, listening to the records she owned. Some he knew from his time, which greatly helped him recover bits and pieces of who he was, and some foreign to his ears. By the time the sun went down, he would pack it up and go back upstairs to his room. The faint clanking of the keys letting him know that she –Maica –is home. 

The next day, as Bucky took the steps downstairs, faint voices reached his ears. Instinctively, his body went full alert at the thought of other people being in the house. By the time he reached the lower staircase, he saw her propped on the sofa eyes glued on the tv. It was where the voices are coming from and Bucky let out the breath he held. She must have sensed his presence for she turned towards his direction, eyes wide. 

“H-hey.” She greeted, frantically standing up. 

Bucky only nodded his head in response, uncertain of what to do, he stood there rooted between the steps. She approached the staircase and stood at the bottom, looking up at him with a small smile. 

“I didn’t get your name last time. I’m Jamaica Coleman, by the way.” She introduced herself. 

Bucky gulped then cleared his throat. “James Buchanan.” He replied briskly. 

With that, she beamed at him. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Buchanan.” 

“Just James.” 

“Alright.” She nodded then brought her hands together in a clap, as if suddenly remembering something. “Oh, I made chicken noodle soup! Come on, let’s eat. I’ll set the table.” 

Before Bucky could react and decline her offer, she was out of his sight, headed towards the kitchen. Bucky sighed and decided it would not hurt to share breakfast -or early lunch, he corrected himself as he glanced at the clock- with his landlady. 

“Right.” She spoke as she held a pot of the said soup, mittens covering her hands, and gingerly placed it on the table. She gestured for him to sit down on one of the chairs. Bucky took the left seat beside hers. “We could go over the housemate rules and regs as we eat, if that’s fine with you.” She started. Bucky did not make a move to eat and she must have noticed it. “Don’t you like soup?” She asked. 

Bucky wanted to say no it was not the soup. He would very much like to eat it. It was just it had been so long, so damn long since he had a normal interaction with people. It had been so long since he felt this kind of normalcy in his life. The last fifty years, it was nothing but emptiness, eyes devoid of life, blood on his hands, and the mechanical whir, and the pain that came with it. And then after that, oblivion. It was a vicious cycle he never knew he was in. Until the man on the bridge called him Bucky. 

“James.” She called out, voice distraught. His gaze snapped back at her, she was on edge, leaning towards him, hand outstretched. “Are you okay? You’re hyperventilating.” 

“I’m fine.” Bucky assured her. And true enough, he was hyperventilating and willed himself to calm down. She looked doubtful at first but a few seconds later, when she saw that his breathing went back to normal, she relaxed back on her seat but still eyed him worriedly.

Bucky was relieved when she let it slide, going back to her talk of the ‘rules and regs’ she had mentioned earlier, which at the end only consisted of Bucky not going to her room and her not going to his room. Because (apparently) like him, she does not have much friends that could come over and throw parties with. 

“So, leather gloves. Bringin’ out the MJ in you, huh?” She pointed at his gloved hand. 

Bucky tensed at her statement yet at the same time got confused. “MJ?” He asked. 

She looked at him open-mouthed. Bucky could see shock and disbelief blending on her face. He frowned at her reaction. “James. Please don’t tell you’ve never heard of him.” 

“I haven’t?” 

She let out a dramatic gasp and Bucky thought she was being a little too over the top. “That’s so unacceptable.” She wailed then abruptly stood up, making her way towards the turntable. “Today, you’re gonna learn.” 

Bucky sat there, eyes glued on her back as she rummaged through her records collection. He saw how her face lit up in delight as she pulled out what seemed to be she was looking for and then carefully placed it on the player. The sound of throbbing drums and synthetic music bounced of the walls. She went back to her seat beside him, head bobbing and shoulders popping in sync with the beat. 

He could not deny that the song is catchy but his reserved self remained still and quiet as she started singing the verse. “She was more like a beauty queen from a movie scene…” she trailed of as she took a sip of the soup. Bucky did the same, scooping a spoonful of chicken broth then bringing it to his lips. The hot liquid spread over his taste buds. He remembered having one when he was much much younger. He was sick and his mother had cooked for him chicken noodle soup because he would not eat anything else. 

“How was it?” She asked expectantly.

Bucky looked at her with a small smile it was barely visible. “The best I’ve had since.” He said then immediately noticed the blush that painted her cheeks. 

“Thanks.” She replied then cleared her throat. “So, the song’s Billie Jean…” he almost **almost** chuckled at her attempt to change the subject. He let it slide and contently listened to her educating him about the King of Pop. 

**_July 20, 2020_ **

Jamaica let out a tired yawn. It had been a long day. Since the King’s arrival, it seemed the pace in the Center doubled. Everyone got busier and workload came a lot faster. But still, she managed to do everything that was due today so all was good. She started packing up, getting ready to leave. James is at the playground with the kids and she will soon be on her way to fetch him. 

As she neared the playground she could see James running around and playing with other kids. He gets along with other children very well. It was something she was glad of. Jamaica wants him to enjoy his childhood as much as possible, make as many friends as he could. She did not approach her son nor call him, opting to just sit on a bench nearby, content in watching him hop and run. She could see he was very much enjoying himself. It was only after a few minutes when James finally saw her. 

“Mama!” He exclaimed and immediately dashed towards his mom. 

“Hello, little doll.” She met him with a hug, the sweat on his forehead from running too much clung on her blouse. “Having fun?” Her son nodded eagerly in response, his smile never faltering. 

Suddenly, his eyes lit up when he saw someone behind her. “Dada.” He muttered. 

“Dada?” Jamaica asked confused.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Show some love, yeah?


	4. Chapter 4

**March 2014**

Today, Bucky learned what online shopping is.

He had just woken up, eyes still adjusting into focus, when he heard a rap on his door.

“James, you awake?” He heard Jamaica ask from behind the door.

“Coming.” He grunted out in reply before grabbing his long-sleeved shirt. What did his landlady want so early in the morning on a weekend? She usually sleeps in on Saturdays. He trudged across the room then yanked the door open when he reached it. He was met with the beaming face of Jamaica, her hair in a bun, a basket propped between the side of her hip and right hand.

“Mornin’ ” She chirped. “I’m doing laundry today and I’m feeling generous, put your dirty clothes here, I’ll wash them for you.” She instructed, gesturing on the basket by her side.

Bucky was about to decline but she beat him into speaking. “Come on, I haven’t seen you do laundry the last two months.” She insisted then unceremoniously made her way into his room, brushing past him. Her eyes roamed, seemingly searching for his clothes.

Bucky, now wide awake, moved in front of her; blocking her view. “I don’t have laundry, I wash it everyday.” He explained just so his stubborn landlady would leave.

She only hummed in response then clicked her tongue. “So that’s why your clothes are worn-out and I only ever see you in like four different shirts since you moved in.”

Feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious, Bucky glanced down at his clothing. True enough, the long-sleeves he wore is going to give out soon. He was long overdue for a new set of clothes and undergarments. The clothes he brought with him when he moved in he had gotten from a thrift shop back in DC. And it wasn’t entirely an experience he wants to undergo again. Crowds put him on edge; hairs on the back of his neck stood up, it’s as if he’s anticipating an incident to blow, his eyes automatically dart to the nearest exit, and his hand positioned to grab his concealed weapon.

Bucky felt a hand on his shoulder, he stiffened initially but relaxed as soon as he realized it was his landlady. She looked at him with worried eyes. “Are you okay? You’re tense all of a sudden.”

Bucky didn’t reply and just stared at her. He heard her let out a resigned sigh then retracted her hand to reach for the basket by her feet. She then looked at him thoughtfully. Her mind gears are working trying to figure him out. Bucky knows it.

“I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.” She reminded before turning towards the door.

“It’s the crowd.”

Instantaneously, she turned on her heels, facing him back. “The crowd?”

“I get uncomfortable around people.” Well that’s an understatement.

She raised a brow. “I’m people too?”

“You’re harmless.”

“My Pa always used to say, people are harmless until they become harmful.”

Bucky almost groaned, she has a retort for everything.

“So you’re telling me you don’t like shopping ‘cause people make you anxious?” She didn’t give him a time to reply and immediately added, “Ever heard of online shopping?”

He stared at her blankly. It was her turn to groan. “You don’t know MJ and you don’t know online shopping.” She wrinkled her face in frustration then told him, “You know nothing, James Snow.”

Next thing he knew, they were plopped on the sofa, her laptop on his lap, browsing through pages and pages of men’s apparel.

“If you see something you like just click ‘Add to Cart’, you need something specific, bring the cursor here,” she points to a bar with a magnifying glass icon, “then type in whatever it is you’re looking for then hit this,” She pointed on a key that read ‘Enter’. “When you’re done, click ‘Proceed to Check-out’, it should arrive in a few days.” She explained earnestly then left him on his own to do her laundry.

It was amazing, to be honest. The world has changed so much. She had explained to him earlier that everyone could practically do everything within the comforts of their own home. They could even work without leaving the house. Pay bills. Do their grocery.

An image flashed in his mind. A car hovered mid-air. “Welcome to the future.” A man said.

It vanished as soon as it came. Bucky went stock still for a moment. Is it a memory? Or an illusion? His eyes focused back on the screen at the task at hand. Whatever it was, he resolved, he would take it as it is. He would let the memories come to him instead of forcing it back.

His thoughts drifted to his landlady. In the few months he’d been with her he saw that she was stubborn, strong-willed, and very capable of herself. She’s clever in a way that she knows what to do to get what she wants. She’s thoughtful and caring. It was easy talking to her; no nonsense, no judgments. She can be perky at times but serious when she needs to be.

Bucky would like to think they were friends –to some degree. But then again, who would want to be friends with the Winter Soldier?

**April 2014**

“Is that a freaking metal arm?!" 

Bucky nearly jumped on his feet at the sound of her voice.  _Why is she here? She should be at work._  He wondered as he quickly snatched the jacket beside him and put it on.

"Why are you here?” He asked, his right hand suddenly felt clammy and sweat broke out on his forehead. He was trying hard to avoid her gaze.

“I called in sick and was about to ask if you wanted pizza.” She replied then strode towards him, eyes gleaming in curiosity. “But never mind me, how did you- I mean, not that I’m freaked out or anything, but how’d you get it?”

“I fell off a train.” He said in a beat, still refusing to meet her gaze.

“That must’ve sucked.” A brief silence stretched between the two before Bucky felt the bed dip beside him, he turned slightly and saw his landlady sitting there not far from him, a dreamy expression on her face. “Five years ago, I would’ve freaked out.” She finally spoke. “I met this guy Luke, he’s big and bulky with a skin so tough a knife can’t get through him. I’m not kidding.” She chuckled. “Then there’s this lawyer, he was blind, but dude can do them ninja moves.” She paused again, seemingly contemplating. “And honestly, with all the shit that has gone down in New York, I think I’ve seen it all, freaking aliens. So, I’m cool with your metal arm, Cyborg. Just try not to strangle me in my sleep. I mean, that character has some issues, have you seen Justice League?”

Bucky sat there, a permanent face of confusion etched on him at her rambling.

“No? Good. Don’t watch it, it sucked big time.” She stood up and motioned for the door then stopped and turned to him, a smile on her lips. “Don’t worry, it’s our little secret.” She winked at him then disappeared out of his room.

Her last action had caught him off-guard yet at the same time also brought a wave of relief within him. Bucky could not help but hold onto her words even though he didn’t quite get what she rambled about half the time. He decided to discard the long sleeves and jacket, no point hiding his metal arm from his landlady, and opted for one of the shirts he had ordered online before going down to take her up on her pizza offer.

“One question.” Bucky heard Jamaica spoke before he reached the last step down the stairs. She stood in the middle of the living room, listening to what he recognized was  _Gillespie’s Round Midnight_. It was a very popular jazz-song in the 40’s. He approached her, still waiting for the question.

A wave of awareness suddenly hit him, like a slap on the face; he had stopped being wary around her, the ease in which he moved brought a small smile on his lips. Maybe it had something to do with her finding out his cybernetic arm and being all right with it. “Is James Buchanan your real name?”

“Yes, it is.” He answered immediately. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. Bucky was not ready to tell her who he really is. Her finding out about his arm was only scratching the surface.

She did not respond to that and merely stood there. Bucky noticed that she had been acting a little peculiar since earlier. She bounced on her steps and she spoke a little too spry, which was a new side that he saw in her “Are you intoxicated?” He asked.But she doesn’t reek of alcohol, not even a hint of it.

Then it dawned on him. It was the smell of scorched paper and hemp that he had sniffed on her earlier. “You smoke?” He accused, almost indignantly.

She snorted at his reaction. “What, you never smoked pot before?” She huffed in false annoyance. The ring of the doorbell cut through their conversation and he noted how her face instantly lit up. “That’s the pizza!” She chimed.

“Weed is legal now?” Bucky asked, his face scrunched in confusion. They both were sat by the dining table, munching on the pizza that had arrived. She’s already on her third slice when he dropped the question, which earned him a look of disbelief from her.

“Not really, at least not in New York. It was only decriminalized. You can get away with a few couple of grams. But seriously, how long did you live in a cave before you appeared on my doorstep?” He shot her a murderous look and flexed his metal arm to prove a point, but there was a glimmer of playfulness in his eyes. “I was kidding!” She reasoned out.

_I did live in a cave, alright._ He thought.  _The Hydra-kind-of-cave._

“So are you ever gonna tell me about the metal arm, Cyborg?”

His face contorted at the nickname. “Maybe next time, doll.” Was his only reply before taking a bite. The following days had him declining her offer of smoking the last bit of her joint. Other than that, life in the Brownstone remained uneventful.

Bucky had been feeling more and more of himself with each passing week. She had given him a sense of normalcy and regularity. She had him look into the movies in the past decades and her incessant rambling about the tv series that she’s watched -and are watching- got him hooked as well. He had started to feel that he is a man again and that he lived with a woman. A very attractive woman. But he tries to ignore the achingly familiar sensations; suppressing them before it could wholly consume him.

Although he moved about the house with much more ease now, the threat of Hydra still lingered in his mind. He had also started to remember bits and pieces about his friend, Steven Grant Rogers. That strong sense of connection tugged at his core every now and then whenever he crossed his mind; Bucky still remembers him as the little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight.

Bucky’s mind reeled back to Hydra. Sooner or later he would have to move again, find a new place to stay. Just last night, he got wind of the news that Brock Rumlow is still alive.  _That piece of shit._ He knew in his gut that Rumlow would come looking for him once he wakes up from coma. As much as he would not want the runt to walk the earth again, he was halfway around the world from him. It did not help that Rumlow is in a heavily guarded facility. He wouldn’t risk it now; he would devise a plan and wait his time.

A knock on his bedroom door pulled Bucky from his thoughts. He looked up just as the door opened so slightly. A mop of tousled hair appeared from the gap, completely dispelling his worries. “Dinner’s here.” His landlady chirped then disappeared. He found her moments later by the dining table, seated on her usual spot.

“Thai food.” She informed as he neared the table.

He sat down beside her and shot her a pensive look. “What do you know about Steve Rogers?” He asked, seemingly out of the blue.

She looked at him weirdly yet answered nonetheless. “Captain America, he was all over the tv after the whole fiasco with SHIELD, I don’t really know what’s going on. I barely watch the news.” She added. “Oh! And he has this big blue eyes you could get lost in.” Bucky shot her a disgruntled look but she only smiled at him cheekily. “Don’t worry, you’re cuter, Cyborg.” She cooed. “Plus, you have a metal arm. I’d root for you any day.” She said then giggled.

Bucky could not stop the smile that crept up his face. He would not want to admit it but warm feelings made his cheeks heat up. When he chanced a glance at her, her eyes were wide as saucers, gawking at him.

“Oh my god! You’re fucking smiling.”

Bucky managed a straight face. “No idea what you’re talking about, doll.” He denied then took a bite of his own slice of pizza.

Weeks quickly passed, the next thing Bucky knew, July had rolled by. He was sat on the sofa when he heard the clinking of keys. The front door opened then closed. “Hey, Cyborg.” His landlady greeted but he made no effort to move, much absorbed on the scene playing on the television. “Lord of the Rings. I approve.” He heard her say beside him. It was the tail end of Return of the King; Frodo had just boarded the Grey ship. When the credits finally rolled, he heard her ask, “So, how was it?”

He turned to her and said, with a deadpan expression, “Long” He paused briefly, she looked at him expectantly. “and boring.” Jamaica scoffed at him indignantly. He had expected that reaction but said it anyway.

“BORING? HOW DARE YOU!”

Bucky chuckled at her. “I was kidding, doll. It was great. Samwise is a good friend.” he countered, hands raised halfway up in defense. She narrowed her eyes at him, unconvinced. “A Clockwork Orange sounds interesting, watch with me?” That seemed to dispel her doubts and put a smile on her face.

“Already seen it, but sure. Let’s watch it. I’ll just stash these away.” She pointed at the bag of groceries by her feet.

“Let me help you.” He offered then stood up to get the bags and together they both entered the kitchen and started on their task.

“So, umm, you have any plans on the fourth?”

“The fourth?” He looked up from his spot in front of the fridge; he was crouched down, stashing the vegetables in the chiller. Jamaica, on the other hand, is placing the canned goods in the cupboard above the sink. She has her back to him and Bucky’s eyes fell on her behind, eyeing the way her tight pants clung to the plump cheeks. A warm tingling feeling creep south and he was mildly taken aback. How long has it been sin–

“James?”

Bucky blinked out of his daze and focused on her again. She was looking at him curiously. “Huh?” He mentally winced at his incorrigible response.

“Are you okay? You’re… red.” She paused then gawked at him. “Are you seriously blushing right now?” There was a glint of amusement in her eyes. “Holy shoot, you fucking are!”

Bucky gulped then put on a neutral face. “I wasn’t, doll. You’re seeing things.”

“Whatever you say, Cyborg. And I won’t ask what inappropriate thoughts you’re thinking.” She teased then went back to her job of stashing the goods. He stood up from his spot and briefly wondered what the hell just happened. Before he could come up with any answers, she stood before him, eyes expectant. “Do you wanna go with me to Coney Island on the fourth?”

Mind still processing what transpired between them, he unwittingly answered “Sure.”

Jamaica’s face broke out in a wide grin. “Great! We’re meeting Lucy!”

_Who the hell is Lucy?_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Justice Leage wasn't released in 2014 but let's pretend it was.  
> Show some love, yeah?


	5. Chapter 5

**July 4, 2019**

The Coney Island was packed with people, who were also celebrating the Independence Day, when Jamaica and James arrived. The screams and laughter burst all around them. 

The clanking of ride chains and chugging of machinery ring in her ears as both of them made their way further inside the park, add to that the combined smell of cigarettes, cotton candy, and various oiled machinery. She could already feel the bubble of excitement rise within her, but first, she craned your neck, eyes searching for a mop of black hair that belonged to her best friend. They both agreed to meet by the Carousel. Her heart leapt as her eyes landed on a small Asian girl.

“Lucy!” Jamaica called out, her arm stretched upwards in a wave.

At the sound of her voice, the said woman snapped her gaze towards her direction, waving back. Without thinking, her hand grabbed James’ gloved one and pulled him with her. “Come on.” She urged, practically half-running towards her best friend whom she hadn’t seen in a long time. Halfway through, she let go of James’ hand and met Lucy in a bone-crushing hug. “I miss you.”

“I miss you more.” Lucy replied then broke the hug. “I’d like you to meet someone.” She said. A tall woman, who Jamaica noticed stood beside Lucy, came forward. Her short black hair accentuated the sharp features of her face. “Jam, this is Anna, my girlfriend.” She then turned to Anna. “Hun, this is Jamaica.”

Anna smiled politely and stretched her hand out for a shake but Jamaica lunge in for a hug. This seemed to startle her for she felt her stiffen but seconds later, she relaxed and hugged her back. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“Oh by the way.” She moved back to James’ side then introduced him. “This is James Buchanan, my tenant.” She saw him let out a tight-lipped smile.

“Tenant, huh?” Lucy had a knowing smile on her face. She shot her best friend a glare that told her to ZIP IT.

After all the introductions, the quartet decided to try out the games first. Lucy and Anna went straight to the claw machine while Jamaica and James decided on a Bottle Ring Toss game. The owner briefly explained the rules of the game. If they could land 3 hoops on a bottle by tossing it, they get to win the giant panda that she had been eyeing since earlier.

“Bring it on.” She quietly cheered to herself. She heard a low snort from James, who, earlier, offered to do it for her. She ignored his antics and focused on the task at hand. She was given five hoops.

She tossed the first one, but it missed.  _Damn._  She took a deep breath then tossed the second one. “Yes!” Jamaica did a victorious pump that was followed by James’ whistle behind her. She calmed herself then tossed the third hoop, then the fourth, and the fifth. All missed the bottle.

The owner smiled at her triumphantly. “Would you like another round?” She shook her head in annoyance and thought it was a stupid game.

“Let me.” James offered, a dollar in hand. The owner took it in exchange for five hoops. He, then, turned to her. “Three rings and I’ll win that giant stuff, right?” He asked, his tone confident. She nodded in response, arms crossed as she observed him from the side. He stepped back, a little bit further from the mark line. Suddenly, he tossed out three hoops simultaneously. She watched, open-mouthed, as the hoops glide through the air, as if in slow motion.

Jamaica’s loud cheer erupted as every single hoop landed on a single bottle. “Oh my god! You fucking did it!” She praised, looking at James with wide eyes. Even the owner was shocked, rooted to his spot, eyes glued on the bottle and the three hoops around it.

“The giant panda, please.” James spoke to the owner. With a dejected sigh, it was handed to him. It was almost as big as him, with black beady eyes staring right back at her. She stretched her arms out expectantly, waiting for James to hand it to her. “Is this for you?” He teased. She pouted in response, which earned her a low chuckle from him. “Alright, doll, he’s yours.”

“Yaay, thanks!” Her face broke out in a wide smile while her heart did a somersault. “Let’s try the claw machine!” She piped hoping to get distracted before her heart completely leaps out of her chest. 

As Jamaica and James prepare to play, a little boy stood near them, eyes glued on the giant panda resting by her feet. She now realized what a hassle it was dragging the gigantic thing wherever they go. James refused to lend a hand.

“Hey there,” Jamaica approached the boy. “Are you lost?” The boy looked at her then shook his head. “Well, what can I help you with?” He did not reply, instead he shifted his gaze back towards the stuffed animal past her and beside James, who now has his attention on her and the boy. “You want Smokey, the panda?” The boy bit his lips then shyly nodded his head. “Okay, you can have him, but you have to promise you’ll take care of him.”

“I promise!” The boy piped up, lips stretched into a wide smile.

“Go on,” She urged, “he’s yours now.” She watched as the boy ran towards it then half-drag and half-carry the stuffed animal thrice his size. She was silent as she walked back to her spot beside James. Her heart swelled with contentment.

“You wanna get another one?” he asked in a beat.

“Nah, let’s get those cute key chains instead.” She replied. Half an hour later, neither one of them was able to get one. It seems claw machines are claw machines even in the presence of James “three-hoop-tosser” Buchanan. She decided to quit on it and James agreed. Now, the two are in search of Lucy and Anna so they could all grab a bite.

\-----

“Okay, Jamaica Coleman, speak up. What’s the real deal between you two?” Lucy questioned. She sat opposite her with Anna by her side. She had brought up the question when James left the table to get another bottle of drink.

Jamaica almost choked on her juice. “Real dea- what the hell do you mean?”

“Oh come on, you were shooting each other disgusting flirtatious looks.”

She snorted. “We most certainly weren’t shooting each other disgusting flirtatious looks.”

“Oh, okay.” Lucy deadpanned. “Just basically eye-fucking each other.” She retorted. “You’ve been with him six months and you haven’t jumped him? I’m disappointed.”

“He’s my tenant!”

Lucy cocked an eyebrow. “What a lame excuse.” Lucy pointed with her lips at James, who was walking back to your table. “Look at those thighs, they would definitely screw you.”

“Holy shit, Lucy, stop painting my mind. I’m sexually frustrated as it is.”

Lucy shot her knowing looks across the table. “Cut it.” She hissed and her best friend just hummed in response. “Hey.” Jamaica awkwardly greeted when James reached the table. She could feel her body tense and heat up and him being seated beside her did not exactly help her predicament.

The four of them parted ways halfway through the night, with Lucy and Anna wanting to spend ‘couple time’ with each other. Now she’s alone with James and she could not shake off the inappropriate thoughts she would do to him inside her mind. She was getting hot by the minute and the summer night breeze only made it worse. She let out a loud exhale then slapped her cheeks.

“You alright, doll?”

“Uhuh.” She gave him a stiff nod.

“Sure? You look like you’re afraid to be with me.”

_Damn straight._

He shot her a lopsided smile. “You know I don’t bite.”

An image of his teeth somewhere on her body flashed in her mind.  _Jesus James Buchanan! “_ Let’s ride the Cyclone!“ She squeaked, eyeing the first ride that caught her eyes, and before James could reply, she already bee lined for the said ride.

"Are you okay, so far? Because I’m not okay so far. I think this is a bad idea.” She rambled.

“I think this is a great idea, doll.”

Normally, she would be gawking at James’ brightly lit face but nothing in the situation screams normal. She hasn’t ridden a roller coaster ever. They’re  now both strapped in their seats and Jamaica could hear the buzz of excitement from the other passengers.

“Relax, you’ll be fine.”

“No, I wont. Why the fuck didn’t you stop me?” She hissed. James only chuckled at her.

“Here.” He offered his flesh hand to her and she took it without hesitation. Her clammy hands gripped his, and it was hard and big and a little calloused but she was totally fine with it because it was also warm and perfectly fits hers anyway. He tightened his grip back and smiled reassuringly. “I’m here, doll. You’re gonna be fine.”

“I’ll kill you if I die, Cyborg.”

The engine hissed and a low rumble filled her ears. The ride slowly took off and with each second, she could feel the hair on the back of her neck peak with anxiousness. They were climbing higher and higher.

“Heads up, doll. And scream if you want to.”

She could feel her blood pumping all over her body. The train stopped momentarily and all noise ceased. A shrill scream tore through her throat as gravity ripped the wagon down the steepest slope she has ever had the luck of being on. She could feel the night breeze slapping her face. Her grip on his hand tightened even more. Amidst the screams and the rhythmic cadence of the engine, she heard James’ loud “WHOOO” before flashing her the brightest grin she had ever seen on his face.

Her heart did somersaults just as the train passed the loop. And as the slingshot of velocity consumed her, she realized with a racing heart,

_God, I am falling for this man._

“This is pretty tame compared to the last five rides we’ve had.” She commented as she boarded the gondola.

“Can’t leave an amusement park without riding the wheel.”

A comfortable silence passed between the two as they both settled inside. They sat side by side, shoulders touching, so much so that she’s tempted to lean onto him and feel the heat of his body against hers. His scent is intoxicating and the way his hair fell over his face gave him a roguish look.

“Did I pass inspection?”

She met his eyes and a wave of heat flushed her cheeks at having caught staring. He was smirking.  _The devil_! She replied nonetheless. “With flying colors.”

“Glad to know.” He sounded satisfied and pleased with himself. She cannot help but snort. “What?”

There it was, again. That big toothy grin that had her undone. “You’re gonna be the death of me.” She stated. James was about to reply but fireworks burst through the dark night, it was a fiery bloom among the stars. She saw it first, a myriad of colors illuminating the sky, before the loud boom. She felt warm hand envelope her, she briefly looked down at their intertwined fingers before she glanced up at him.

James gave her a warm smile and she smiled back before the both of them turned back to the blazing yet dazzling sight.

_What a time to be alive._

She thought as her heart beat hard against her chest.

 

**July 20, 2020**

 

“Dada?” Jamaica asked confused. She whipped her head behind her; curious as to whom her son was referring to. As soon as her eyes landed on him, Jamaica forgot how to breathe. Her blood ran cold and her heart went into overdrive. She felt her jaw clench at the sight; he was crouched down as he met her son’s height –hugging him, like it was the most natural thing in the world, like they’ve been doing it for a long time.

Tears prickled her eyes and Jamaica doesn’t know if it’s from joy or pain or anger. She quickly and forcefully blinked them away.

“You okay, Maica?” Sam Wilson’s voice snapped her out of her shock. She didn’t notice him standing there. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m good, Sam.” She replied stiffly.

He seemed unconvinced but decided to let it go. “Don’t think you’ve met Sergeant James Barnes?” he gestured to the all-too-familiar man beside him. He’s now standing up, Jamie at his side, beaming.

 ‘Oh, I’ve me him, alright.’ She thought as she willed herself to stay calm. How come he’s here? Where was he all this time? Why did he leave me? So many questions floated in her mind but what baffled her most was he looked at her as if he doesn’t know her, as if they didn’t live together for a year. He looked at her as if she was a complete stranger. Why?

 “Dada, this is mama.” Jamie’s voice cut through her thoughts.

 Bucky stretched his hand out, he looked at her with a smile, the same lopsided smile that made her fall for him all those years ago. Her heart clenched painfully at the sight. How can something so good be so bad?

 “Bucky Barnes.” He introduced himself. Jamaica just stared at him, frozen on her seat.

 ‘Does he really not know me?’

 She felt a strong tug on her arm; it was Jamie trying to pull her up.

 “Mama, you’re ‘posed to shake dada’s hand.” He whined.

 She let herself be carried away and now she stood face-to-face with him. Jamie pulled her sweaty, right hand forward and clasped it with his. It felt like bolts of electricity shot up her spine and that slammed her back to reality.

 “Jamaica Coleman.” She replied tersely then pressed her lips in a firm line. She heard a faint snort from Sam and she, for the life of her, couldn’t figure out what was so amusing about the situation. She also didn’t miss the way Bucky subtly elbowed the Falcon on his side. She doesn’t have time for their antics. She promptly excused herself and Jamie, which earned her a soft whine.

 “Bye dada!” He managed to squeak before she whisked him away.

 ---

“Like I said, Rusty Bucky.” Sam snickered beside him as they watched the retreating figure of Jamie and Jamaica.

 “Shut up.”

 “You’ve lost your charm, soldier. 21stcentury women ain’t nothin’ like them girls from your time.”

 Bucky remained silent. For some reason he couldn’t shake off the feeling like he’s missing something. When she turned around and faced them, an overwhelming sense of familiarity hit him like a tidal wave. It was like déjà vu, except ten times more palpable. He stood there, heart throbbing. Something clicked. Her eyes. There was a flicker in his mind, like a dream half-remembered.

 “She’s a tough shell to crack.” Sam broke through his thoughts. “But I never saw her looked at someone with such animosity.” He mused then turned to him. “What’d you do?”

 “I didn’t –it’s the first time we’ve met.” He defended. The words felt wrong, however. “How long have you known her?”

 “Two years, give or take. She’s very charming, y’know. She usually ain’t like that. So whatever it was, it’s probably your fault.” Sam accused before stalking off.

 Bucky was left dumbfounded, rooted on his spot. ‘What?’ he thought to himself before trailing after his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Show some love, yeah?


	6. Chapter 6

**September 2014** ****

“Look who’s up early.” Bucky heard her whistle from where the stove was located; she was cooking breakfast. The smell of meat being seared wafted throughout the floor whilst the sound of soft jazz reverberated around. Bucky deadpanned as he approached the fridge across her and took out a carton of milk, pouring himself a glass.  
  
“Up early and grumpy.” She huffed.  
  
It was not because he was grumpy. It was because his mind cannot wrap around the fact that she’s wearing a white tank top and shorts so dangerously short he could almost see the stretch marks on her bum. He mostly ever sees her wearing pants (pajamas or denim) and shirts or her office attire, which consisted of long sleeves and slacks (if not knee-length-pencil skirts).   
  
This was new. The lightning bolts etched on her skin were enticing his befuddled mind as he tried to discreetly follow her movements. It also did not help that achingly familiar sensations are currently ransacking his whole body, lighting up all his nerve endings on fire. He could feel the treacherous ache down his loins. Bucky doesn’t want this kind of need so early in the morning.  
  
He hadn’t slept a wink last night. His nightmares are getting to him again and he cannot seem to figure out what triggered it. He usually dreams about all the atrocities he has done and the faces of the people he has killed popping up in his mind now and then, but last night was different. He woke up thrashing and sweating. He jolted up from bed, heart racing wildly and fear gripping him. What has he to fear for suddenly?  
  
The question remained unanswered as he grabbed a change of clothes and headed downstairs for a glass of water. That was when he saw her; hips swaying lightly as she flipped sausages. His worries vanished in a heartbeat and he felt his whole body consume him with thoughts of her. He could hear her humming as he neared the kitchen and that was when she saw him. Her quip only affected him more; he ended up with a glass of milk. James Buchanan Barnes does not even like milk.  
  
“Got plans for today?” She asked as she set the dining table.  
  
Bucky cleared his throat. “No.”  
  
“So, what is it exactly that you do? I don’t see you go out much, when you do, it’s mostly at night.”  
  
“What I do?”  
  
“How do you earn money?” She sat down on her spot and he followed suit without a thought, sitting right beside her.  
  
“I don’t.” He was at loss on how to answer her question.  
  
She raised a brow at him and he eased up a little. “Well, how do you have money?”  
  
“I just do.”  
  
“You’re a cuckoo.”  
  
Bucky raised a brow. “Don’t know what that means.”  
  
“See, a complete and utter cuckoo.” She sighed exasperatedly but good-naturedly. “How can you not know that?”  
  
_Because I was a Hydra assassin for the last 50 years whose mind was wiped and routinely put to cryo when I don’t have a use._  
  
He thought. But no one needs that kind of negativity in his or her life, especially his little ball of sunshine so early in the morning.

—

The first time it happened, Jamaica thought a burglar had entered the house –at three in the morning –with all the thrashing and thumping sound she was hearing. She jolted up from her bed, adrenaline already pumping throughout her veins, her hear beating loudly against her chest. As she reached the stairs leading to James’ room, she heard a loud thump, as if someone fell on the floor. Panic started to build up inside her as she hurried her steps.

“James!” She called out, appearing on his bedroom door. Instead of a fight scene she had expected to see, she saw James on the floor, thrashing against something she could not fathom. His metal arm glimmered under the moonlight that passed through the window. Jamaica crouched down beside him, shaking him lightly to wake him up from his nightmare.

“James,… Hey, Cyborg…” she rocked his shoulders. He was sweating profusely. His face contorted as if he was in immense pain, his breathless groans tugged at her heartstrings. _What horrors had he seen to be tormented like this?_ “Hey, Cyborg, wake up.” she called softly.

The next thing she knew, she was pinned down on the floor with James above her; his metal hand gripped her neck dangerously tight. She could feel her head go light as the passage of oxygen got cut off to from her lungs. She felt her head sway from lack of air. It did not help that James’ heavy form weighted on top of her.

“Ja… James.” She managed to croak out, voice raspy. Her neck had started to bruise because of his grip. Her arms stretched to her sides as she desperately reach for something to hold on to whilst battling to stay conscious. Her eyes focused on James’ own, he had a murderous glint in his eyes.

_This is not him._

Something brushed her hand and she immediately grabbed it. She doesn’t know what it was but whatever it is; she swung it against his head with all the strength she has left. It seemed to wake him up. The dark glint in his eyes was replaced with panic, fear and regret as he retracted his hands from her neck. He scurried away from her, looking disheveled, while she laid there, throat burning and coughing up as a surge of oxygen once again filled her lungs. When she finally looked up, he was nowhere to be seen. She was relieved, for she doesn’t want her almost killer to see her as she broke down and sobbed quietly.

It dawned on her, as tears streamed down her face, how she almost died. How it felt as life slowly seeped out of her skin. James’ haunting gaze lingered in her mind. It was as if he had only one purpose, one will to live –to kill.

She didn’t know how long she sat on the floor of his room, contemplating. She came to the realization that James is a dangerous man, granted, his metal arm should have told her that months ago. But she was too awestruck to care. He is dangerous, her mind warned, but her heart tells her that there is something more beneath the dark shadow in his eyes. He is a haunted man with a haunted past, and crazy as it may seem, she was drawn to him even more. Her heart aches for him, for whatever torment he had been through and is going through. He is wounded, of what and how, she doesn’t know. But she believes the wound is where the light enters. She hope to be that light.

It was a few hours later when Jamaica saw him again. The sun had long come up in the sky and she was sat by the stairs in front of his room, sipping on her morning coffee, when she heard him enter the house. She sat there quietly, waiting for him. He stopped in his tracks momentarily when he saw her.

“James.” She called as he rushed past her. She caught the door before he could shut it close. She slipped inside after him. She could see that he was avoiding her gaze as he scrambled about the room, collecting his things.

“James, let’s talk, please.” She pleaded; she knew what he planned to do. “What just happened earlier?”

He ignored her, his jaw hard as he shoved his things in his backpack he had carried when he moved in. She sighed exasperatedly as she approached him then yanked away the shirt that he was about to dump in his bag. “What the hell Buchanan, answer me!”

He looked at her, eyes unreadable. “I’m sorry.” He said quietly. “I’m moving out of your house.”

“The hell you are! You almost choked the life out of me, James. I could have been dead. So, I deserve an explanation, I deserve an acceptable reason.”

“There is no acceptable reason, not for everything that I did.”

“What did you do?”

“Enough… for me to deserve this kind of punishment.”

Her heart squeezed in pain at how broken he sounded. “No, no one deserves that kind of suffering, not even you, I believe that.”

He smiled dejectedly. “Then you don’t know me.”

“You’re right, I don’t.” She looked at him fiercely. “But I’m not afraid of you. If you think the little stunt you pulled earlier was enough to scare the shit out of me then you don’t know me either.” She challenged. She could see the surprised look spread on his face at her words. He seemed to have regained himself when he said,

“I almost killed you. It wasn’t a ‘little’ stunt.”

James stepped away from her then reached for something under the mattress. He looked at Jamaica briefly before he strode back to her and handed her the folder. She flashed him a questioning look but he remained silent as he sat on the bed, head down, hands clasped in front of him. She focused on the object on her hand, opened it then started to read. She didn’t know how long she stood there, hands trembling as her mind processed the words, and the kinds of atrocities these people put him in. When she flipped the folder closed, hot tears flowed down her cheeks. Her quiet sobs filled the room. She heard rustling sounds but she did not look up, eyes glued on the file on her hands. Then she felt the cool metal against her skin.

“Why do you cry?” He asked softly.

She looked up at him; he seemed confused, like he had no clue what’s going on. She didn’t answer and instead wrapped her arms around him, her slender limbs enveloping his thick frame. He stiffened momentarily but relaxed seconds later.

“I’m so sorry,” She cried on his chest. “You shouldn’t have -that was… that was unforgivable, everything is.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Jamaica nodded as she felt him hug her back, his metal arm resting on the small of her back. “I’m here, you’ll never be alone again.” She broke the embrace and focused on him. “I’ll always be here for you, James Buchanan Barnes.

A small smile crept up his face. “Thanks, doll.”

“Please don’t move out.”

“I won’t.”

“Breakfast?”

“Sure, doll.”

 

\---

Bucky felt the couch dip beside him; he was watching a re-run of Doctor Who when he heard the clanking of keys. Seconds, later, the door opened and Jamaica slid in, having come home from work.

“Here.” She handed him an object covered in brown paper.

“What’s this?” He asked as he took it.

“Just open it.”

Without another word, Bucky tore the paper from the center. It revealed a dark red, leather-bound journal. He turned to her questioningly.

“Writing helps.” She said. “It helps you figure yourself out, self-reflection. You can write there the things you want to achieve or questions that you want answered.”

The side of his mouth lifts in a small smile. “Like a diary?”

“Sort of.” She shrugged. “ ’Cept you’re not an adolescent anymore, you’re ancient.”

“Oh yeah?” He challenged, a mischievous smirk on his face. Jamaica backed up, arms stretched in front of her in defense.

“Wait! I still have something to give you!” She exclaimed then rummaged through the drawer beside the turntable. She faced him again moments later, holding a device in one hand. Instinctively, Bucky crossed the room towards her and wordlessly took the object into his hands.

“It’s an instant camera, in case you don’t know.” She chimed. “You mentioned once that some places reminds you of your past, you can take a photo and put it in your journal, maybe write a short anecdote. What do you think?” she looked at him, eyes expectant. She seemed thrilled by the idea and to be honest, Bucky felt the same.

The gesture, the thought, the effort she put to help him warmed his heart. She did it without asking her to.

“Doll, I–“

“You’re welcome, Cyborg.” She smiled at him cheekily.

Bucky’s heart almost leapt out of his chest. He cleared his throat. “So, how’d you turn this on?”

“Push that button upwards then wait for this light to turn green.” As if on cue, the light blinked twice in red before turning green. “There, all ready. I’m sure you know how to take a shot?”

“Like this?” Unthinkingly –something he seemed to do as of late –Bucky lifted the device to his face, eyes on the viewfinder, and the sound of the shutter clicked. Seconds later the machine whirred and a film slid out.

“James Barnes! Give me that! I must’ve looked ugly!” Before she could snatch the photo away, Bucky already pulled it out from the device and raised it over his head Meanwhile, his landlady clawed at his stretched arm, jumping in an effort to reach the photo.

Bucky chuckled at her futile attempt, teasing her even more. When it became apparent that he wasn’t letting her have it, she huffed dejectedly and pouted. “I hate you, Cyborg.”

He smirked at her. “No you don’t, doll.” He said then brought the picture down; his smile grew as he stared at it. Her eyes were wide, her mouth shaped in a small ‘o’, tendrils of hair fell on her cheeks. She looked dazzling as ever, even when caught off-guard. He turned to her, “Got any glue?”

Still pouting, she reached into the drawer and retrieved one before handing it to him. “Thanks, doll.” He said then went back to the couch. He spread a dollop of glue on the back of the photo, opened his journal, and pasted it on the very first page.

“Oh god!” she gasped as she plopped down beside him. “My face!”

“Relax, you look pretty.”

“What?” she asked, breathlessly.

“Said you’re pretty, doll.”

Bucky did not miss the way her cheeks flush at his words.

“I’m gonna go make dinner.” She rambled then hurriedly stood up.

“Need help?” He teased.

“No, no, no. It’s fine. I’m fine.” She said, as if convincing herself. “I’ll–I’ll  manage.” She stuttered before disappearing to the kitchen.

Bucky let out a low chuckle before turning to his journal. He grabbed the pen that came it with and scrawled on the top-center of the page _My Landlady._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Show some love, yeah?

**Author's Note:**

> Peace yow. Show some love, yeah?


End file.
